


New Worlds

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5855431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't have to go through the 'gate to enter worlds they don't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Worlds

 

First published in  _Foundations 2_ (2002)

 

What was he doing there?

If a friend had told Jack a few years before that someday he’d willingly go to an academic conference, O’Neill would have checked the man for a head injury. He’d done his share of the sciences, social and hard, at the Academy, grad school, and the different AF training schools in Alabama, enough that he understood more than he let on when Sam or Daniel waxed scientific. It was just plain fun to exasperate them with the glazed look of incomprehension he’d perfected. But a whole conference of researchers spouting their five-syllable words? Boot camp sounded like more laughs.

Which was why he was definitely a colonel out of water as he stood uncertainly scanning the schedule of lectures posted on a door. Academics in suits and glasses swirled around him, some of them giving him an odd glance as they passed. So he looked as out of place as he felt. And here he’d even worn his cleanest pair of jeans. One prim woman in a lab coat stopped to outright stare at him, and Jack impulsively stuck his tongue out at her. Tossing her head imperiously, she marched off. He grinned at her retreating back. Scientists--they were so easy to tease.   

Speaking of which, as he turned back to the schedule, a name on it caught his eye, the one he’d been looking for: _Daniel Jackson, PhD (Archaeology and Ancient Languages)_. O’Neill’s eyebrow rose. The kid had two degrees? Jack had known about the one in archaeology, but...then again, Daniel didn’t talk much about himself. His friends had only recently found out he had a grandfather, for pete’s sake.

Then again, Jack scratched the back of his neck self-consciously, wasn’t there something about pots and kettles?

O’Neill hardly looked at the lecture title next to Daniel’s name. Something about Mesopotamian culture. Didn’t really matter; he wasn’t there for the lecture, he was there for the speaker.

Oh, yeah, that’s what he was doing there. Jack sighed. The things he did for his friends.

He’d almost missed Daniel’s breezy invitation, it had been so offhand. “I’m going to be presenting at an archaeological symposium at CU this weekend--care to sit in?” It was given with a grin and the obvious mutual understanding that Jack was more comfortable with a roomful of Goa’uld than their weight in scientists. Jack had tossed back some similarly sarcastic reply before going off to prepare for his own weekend fishing plans. But...Daniel’s offer had stayed with him. Just how many non-colleague friends would the archaeologist have extended such an offer to over the years? Considering he had no family to cheer him on and approximately two friends Jack knew of who weren’t scientists--counting Teal’c--Jack was willing to bet it was none.

The fishing pole had gone back into his closet.

And so there he was, feeling a little lost and more than a little stupid. Daniel would probably wonder what he was even doing there, why he’d taken seriously an invitation that had clearly been a joke.

Except, there had been a hopeful look in the archaeologist’s eyes, completely at odds with the light tone, that had said it wasn’t.

Okay, Jack nodded. He could do this. If he could survive an Iraqi prison camp, he could sit through one stupefyingly dull lecture.

There was enough time to get lunch first, and he found the dining hall and grabbed a hamburger before returning to the conference building. Then, squaring his shoulders, he went into the lecture hall and found a seat on the edge near the middle. It wasn’t hard; the room was less than half full.

The introduction was brief, almost awkward, and Jack winced. Daniel had damaged his career badly with his “far-fetched” theories about the influence of aliens on ancient cultures. O’Neill knew that but hadn’t realized how much worse that damage had become when Daniel had subsequently disappeared and all-but-stopped publishing. The kid still gave the occasional lecture like that one and wrote for journals as their mission schedules allowed, but precious little of what they found was declassified enough for Daniel to write about it. Nor were his research methods exactly open to scrutiny, either. In all, becoming a member of the SGC was not a reputation-enhancing pursuit for a scientist, let alone one whose reputation was already in tatters.

Daniel hadn’t seemed to notice the pauses in his resume as recited by his host. As he rose to stand at the podium, his face was lit with the anticipation of talking about what he loved, to a roomful of people who understood.

And Jack unexpectedly found himself taken aback by the thought.

He’d seen that light plenty in the past, every time Daniel made some new discovery. The archaeologist would seem to forget his troubles and griefs and really come alive at those times. And then Jack would cut him off, and the light would dim.

Granted, a lot of the times Daniel got going, they were on a mission, and Jack couldn’t afford to let their resident archaeologist run on indefinitely. Daniel knew that, too, and had come a long way in curtailing himself. In the process, he’d become more an equal than a civilian who needed protecting or a kid who needed reining in. Usually when he talked now, it was about something important, and Jack listened. But whether Daniel saved the enthusiasm for more appropriate times or had let it die altogether, Jack didn’t know. Maybe he should have wondered about that before.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, distinguished colleagues. It is an honor to be here today before you...”

Nope, it definitely hadn’t died. Even with his wife taken from him, an orphaned childhood, a career in shambles, Daniel still was passionate about what he loved.

There was probably a lesson in that somewhere, Jack thought wryly.

He listened for a while to the tongue-twisting words, following Daniel’s presentation for a whole three sentences until he got lost. Well, that was some sort of record. Usually Daniel lost him after the first few words. Jack couldn’t help but admire as he listened, though, even without really understanding. The guy was _smart_. He’d grown to like Daniel Jackson as a friend, a great deal more than he ever would have admitted, but it was times like these when it struck him how lucky he was to have the young man on his team. Between Daniel’s and Sam’s brains and his and Teal’c’s experience, SG-1 really did have the best of the best. No wonder they had the highest success and lowest casualty rate in the SGC.

It was, almost, a little bit, like being a parent. Pride and worry, responsibility and helplessness, all mixed together. He’d never felt it as keenly in all his years as a team leader as he did now, watching this civilian who had become one of his family.

Someone to Jack’s left raised a hand with a question, and both Jack and Daniel turned toward him.

“Excuse me, Dr. Jackson, but these...theories about the Akkadians are quite extreme. I’d be interested in knowing what findings you’ve made to support this and why they haven’t been documented.”

O’Neill threw the guy a disgusted look. In academic-speak, he’d just politely called Daniel a liar and Jack didn’t take too well to that. Especially because he knew exactly where Daniel had gotten his data, but P3M...whatever, wasn’t about to come up in any archaeological digest.

Daniel didn’t seem ruffled by the challenge. “Actually, you’ll find the notes on the East Tigris findings in the annotations on my paper included in the symposium packet. Some of them are being documented for the first time since their discovery this past summer. I’d be happy to clarify anything in the notes for those who read them ahead of time...?”

Touché. Jack threw a condescending look at the guy before grinning at Daniel. He didn’t get to see Daniel in his element too much and forgot sometimes that the archaeologist could take care of himself just fine in his own world, and was slowly learning to do so in Jack’s world, too. Score two for the kid.

There was, of course, no need to tell him that the digs, set up by General Hammond in order to give Daniel cover to reveal and discuss some of the SGC’s archaeological findings, had been Jack’s idea in the first place. He’d seen his friend’s frustrations with keeping all his work to himself, and, well, of all the things that had gone wrong in Daniel’s life, at least this little one Jack could fix.

His satisfied expression must have caught Daniel’s eye, because the archaeologist noticed him for the first time. Pausing for a moment, Daniel’s surprise turned to bafflement and then a moment of undisguised pleasure. Oh, yeah, that was definitely worth coming for. Jack grinned cheerfully and made a _go on_ motion as Daniel continued to gape, and his friend stumbled back into his lecture, soon wading effortlessly once more into the dense archaeological verbiage.

Jack sat back in his seat, crossing his arms. Daniel was in his groove again, but he threw an occasional glance at O’Neill as if making sure he hadn’t been seeing things. Jack took the opportunity at one point and winked, bringing the slightest flush to Daniel’s face and a twitch of his mouth. No one else there would have caught it, if they were even alive--Jack wasn’t so sure. He’d been in livelier groups of POWs. Still, if this was what one of his teammates thrived on, he could live with it. In moderation. With generous amounts of hockey and fishing in between.

The lecture finally began to wind down, just as Jack was tempted to check his watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught another symposium attendee in the row behind him doing just that, and Jack gave him a hard look. It would have threatened death on the battlefield, but in that setting it merely made the man flinch. Jack turned back, slightly mollified.

A few more barbed questions lobbed at Daniel, the archaeologist returning the volleys with ease, were followed by several more respectful ones. _Way to go, Daniel_ , Jack found himself silently cheering. He had an idea Daniel had won some respect that afternoon along with support for his ideas.

The lecture ended, the audience began to drift out of the lecture hall. Jack stood, surreptitiously stretching his legs, and wandered over to linger by the door and wait for Daniel. Half-monitoring the conversation of the crowd that flowed by, he watched as Daniel greeted a few of the audience in private, face creased in doubtlessly serious conversation. Jack approved both of what he saw and heard. The stray comments he caught seemed to find the lecture interesting and the speaker credible, and there was no tension in Daniel’s posture as he talked, considered, and even laughed with those around him. In his element indeed, Jack chewed on his lip. The kid was a beacon on missions, inviting trouble with his clumsiness and lack of tactical training, though Jack had to admit he’d steadily improved over the last few years. But here he was self-assured and comfortable and in control. In some ways, Daniel seemed as skilled a fighter in that world as Jack was in his own. Not that the archaeologist would have appreciated such a compliment.

The last few remnants said their goodbyes and shook hands and left. Daniel followed, heading straight for O’Neill as if he’d just been waiting for the chance to do so.

“Jack! What’re you doing here? You know, the lake’s, uh, that way,” he pointed over his shoulder.

“Took a detour.” Jack leaned forward, hands in his pockets. “I was invited, wasn’t I?”

Daniel was clearly deciding whether to be nonplussed or delighted. “Well, yeah, of course,” he stammered, “I just figured--”            

“--that a Neanderthal like me couldn’t find the place, let alone make heads or tails of one your lectures?” Jack’s eyebrows went up in faint humor.

“Well...yes, honestly.” At least he had the decency to look sheepish.

Jack succumbed to a grin, throwing an arm around Daniel’s shoulders as he steered him out of the room. “Ah, Danny me boy, I’m just full of surprises.” He leaned confidentially closer. “By the way, you _were_ speaking English in there, right?”

Daniel was hitting his stride, too. “Mostly.” Almost not smiling.

“And since when do you have two PhD’s, anyway?”

“Uh, 19--”

Jack aimed a swipe at Daniel’s head which the younger man easily avoided. “Wise guy.” Actually, he was embarrassed for not having remembered what he’d surely read in Daniel’s file. To cover the lapse, Jack put on his most winning smile and smoothly changed the subject. “I gotta tell ya, if you think this is more fun than fishing, I think there’s something wrong with your head.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be news to you.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “It isn’t.”Jack dropped his arm and the levity at the same time. “But y’know, you sounded pretty good in there.”

Honest, gratified surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Held your own, too.” O’Neill felt suddenly awkward, and hid it with a sly grin. “Who knew academics could be so vicious?”

“You have no idea.” Daniel made a face.

In truth, he did. Catherine had told him about the disastrous lecture Daniel had given just before they’d met, but Jack let the comment pass. You never showed ‘em all your cards--it was a good rule to live by as well as combat strategy. “So, you going on to the next boring lecture?”

He got the requisite dry look for that, then Daniel shrugged. “Actually, I was thinking of skipping the rest. The most important presentations were scheduled for this morning.”

Which his wasn’t, Jack noted darkly, but politics were the same everywhere. Daniel hadn’t played the game as much as he, but they both knew how it went. Maybe the USAF could pull some strings next time...But he let the thought pass for the moment. “You sure?” he asked doubtfully. “Hammond might not give you another chance like this for a while. Not like that’s a bad thing, if you ask me.” He added the last under his breath, just loud enough for Daniel to hear.

“Oh, what, I suppose fish are more intelligent company than some of the best archaeologists in the country.” They’d reached the building’s main doors and Daniel automatically opened one for Jack.

“Believe it or not, I do have a life besides fishing,” Jack said loftily before going out.

Daniel followed him. “And hockey.”

“...and hockey.”

“And the SGC.”

Jack stopped so unexpectedly, Daniel nearly ran into him. “Just how much of a life does a guy need?”

Daniel’s smile was innocent. “I’m just saying, this is my world.” He windmilled one arm, whether to encompass the campus around them or all of the planet, Jack wasn’t sure, though both would have been appropriate in their own way. “So where’s yours?”

Jack peered at him through lowered eyebrows, wondering how the conversation had turned that direction, debating how seriously Daniel was asking. “You really want to know?” he said quietly.

The surprised expression on the younger man’s face told him Daniel hadn’t expected a real answer, but curiosity replaced it at once. “Yes, I would.”

Jack shrugged, the intensity gone as quickly as it had come. “Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” And he stalked off toward the lot where he’d left his Jeep. A few quiet seconds, then he heard Daniel trotting to catch up.

“Uh...warn me about what?”

 

The bar was one he never would have found on his own, a small, squat structure tucked between two giant concrete-and-brick office buildings near the edge of town, off the main road. There wasn’t even a sign over the place, but Jack had found it unerringly, driving with an economy of motion and speech that had left Daniel wondering in earnest what he was getting himself into.

Still, he was intrigued and not just out of idle interest. There were times after a tough mission when Jack seemingly disappeared. He wouldn’t be at his home when Daniel drove by, nor hanging out at the diner nearest Cheyenne Mountain where most of the off-duty SGC personnel gravitated and where Daniel happened to know the waitress called Jack by his first name. Daniel had even stopped once at the cemetery where Charlie was buried, but Jack was nowhere to be found. Daniel had worried about it at first--Jack had had to track him down and bring him home a few times in those first weeks after Sha’re was gone, when he would go out and get soused or left for a walk and completely lost track of direction or time. Loss had been one of the things that bonded them, though Jack’s was older and more final than his. But Jack always showed up fresh and ready for the next mission and so Daniel had finally shrugged it off. They were both entitled to their secrets and private lives.

And it looked like this was part of Jack’s.

Daniel got out of the Jeep, fumbling awkwardly with his seatbelt and then the door, watching Jack but uncharacteristically unable to read him. His friend ushered him without a word through the chipped green wooden door.

The lack of a sign on the building didn’t seem to matter; the small tavern was amply filled. Daniel stood uncertainly just inside the door, looking over the clientele. Not exactly the regular after-work crowd of loosened white collars and ties, nor the mixed company of a singles bar, the only two kinds he had any experience with in this culture. No, this had the feeling of a few places he’d been in in the Middle East, where every eye in the place assessed a newcomer not for compatibility but risk. It was a place where soldiers met and drank together.

Definitely not his world.

Jack was heading toward the bar, heedless of whether Daniel followed, and the archaeologist frowned as he watched his friend. Gone was the wariness Jack seemed to wear about him like armor under his easygoing manner, as if for the moment he could stop being on guard. Instead, he moved with the easy grace of the former special ops soldier he was, freed from the camouflage he had to use in the civilian world. This was friendly territory.

On both sides. The small crowd at the bar parted to let him through and Jack leaned forward to exchange a few knowing words with the bartender. The large man, looking like a former drill sergeant himself, nodded in response, giving Daniel a piercing once-over before filling two mugs with dark beer and passing them to Jack. Daniel didn’t even see the money change hands, just the bills disappearing into the register.

“You coming?” Jack was calling him to him he suddenly realized, barely audible over the loud music Daniel only then noticed. Country, of all things--who would have guessed? Carefully, he skirted his way toward his friend, trying not to brush against the men who sat at the bars and tables, the air of barely repressed action and danger around them almost as solid as the tattooed arms and close-cropped heads.

It was not the type he usually considered Jack to be, with the older man’s laid-back, casual style and approachability. But...there had been moments, fresh from battle, as Daniel was still trying to get his hands to stop shaking, that he’d glimpsed Jack’s face and seen the hardness and death and danger of a man who’d witnessed and experienced far more horrors than Daniel ever had or would. The reassurance rested in the back of his mind that the team had someone in charge who knew his job well, but mostly Daniel was glad not to think about it. The soldiering lifestyle was not one he’d ever become comfortable with. Even in his friend Jack.

But this wasn’t his friend Jack. This was Jack the soldier, in his element.

To his dismay, Daniel saw O’Neill pull up a chair at a table already occupied by two other men, both of them somewhere between his and Jack’s age, one in jeans and leather jacket much like Jack’s, the other wearing a suit and looking like a secret service agent. They might as well have been in camos, their bearing marking them as either soldiers or cops. They greeted Jack warmly, as old friends, and then turned to him.

The jeans-and-jacket one, a younger Latino with sharp eyes, gave him a friendly smile and waved him to a chair. “Ding” was the only name Daniel caught, but there didn’t appear to be a need for more. The other man, John, was nearer to Jack’s age, with sun-browned skin, dark hair, and old eyes. Daniel found himself wondering if “John” was his real name.

“And this is Dr. Daniel Jackson,” Jack finished the introductions, “one of mine.”

One of his what, he didn’t say, but the men seemed to know. The possessiveness would have bothered Daniel once but was oddly comfortable now, offering him a sense of belonging in a place he clearly didn’t. And immediately the atmosphere at the table relaxed, his no longer being an outsider allowing the two strangers to fully stand down. Daniel found himself doing likewise, listening and observing in earnest.

The weight of Jack’s vouching for him soon became clear, as the easy conversation and teasing clearly pointed to the three men having some sort of history together. Work was discussed in the vaguest of terms, but everyone except Daniel seemed to know exactly what they were talking about. He just smiled whenever Jack grinned at him, playing along.

And the language. As the topic moved on to a series of acronyms and laughs were shared over a comment he didn’t even realize had been a joke--what was a “zoomie,” anyway?-- Daniel stopped listening and started watching.

Jack O’Neill, to be exact. His friend’s expression shifted from cold to casual by turns, occasionally even haunted, more expressive than Daniel was used to seeing. Oddly enough, in this place of tough men, emotions didn’t seem to be a sign of weakness. Maybe because they had nothing left to prove.

Jack glanced at him often during the conversation, pulling him in, silently asking if he wanted out, but in the sober moments, the looks were long, loaded, sharing what only the four of them in SG-1 really understood. What they never talked about if they could help it, Jack was offering up now without a word. And Daniel didn’t know if he was more discomfited or moved.

He finally nodded back minutely, a lot of answers all in one. The corner of Jack’s mouth curved, his eyes softening, and Daniel found himself responding in kind.

They were getting mushy in their old age. Had to be the influence of the place.

The private conversation hadn’t gone unnoticed, but the two others didn’t comment on it. In fact, there were a few long glances exchanged at that end of the table. Apparently teams operated the same all over. Maybe he didn’t stick out so much after all.

Except that Daniel still had no idea what his companions were talking about half the time. He’d have to remind Jack of that the next time the soldier complained how incomprehensible _he_ was.

Somewhere along the way, he finished his beer. A check of his companions’ mugs found that the other three had ingested a surprisingly small amount of alcohol despite the grave turns conversation sometimes took. Jack didn’t even look at him, just lifted a hand and another beer promptly appeared in front of Daniel. He wasn’t surprised--he’d realized a long time before that Jack noticed far more than he let on, especially when one of his team was concerned. Daniel just sipped and listened as discussion turned from the latest weaponry to a recent ill-fated mission the two strangers had taken part in that had resulted in considerable loss of life, to the effect of the current administration on the military.

Daniel sometimes forgot the fact that Jack had reached his rank through a post-graduate degree, a lot of training, and even more field experience, and that he could hold his own on most topics. Nor did he spend much time thinking about Jack’s black ops past or the time he’d spent in foreign prisons or the people he’d had to kill. They were aspects to the man Daniel often underestimated or chose to ignore. Not that he even saw them that often. But this side, the one amongst his brothers-in-arms and true equals, was one Daniel hadn’t seen before, not even at the SGC where Jack outranked most of the personnel. And from Jack’s comfort level, it was certainly a substantial part of him.

Jack his friend was one-and-the-same with Jack the soldier. Somehow that had never quite sunk in before. No wonder Sam always called Jack “Colonel.”

A fellow bar-goer, obviously drunk, bumped into Jack’s chair as he passed and then leaned precariously over him. He peered at Jack for a moment, then grinned mockingly.

“Well, Colonel O’Neill. Back from...what duty was it again?”

“Barker,” Jack greeted coolly. “Analysis of deep space radar telemetry at Cheyenne. How ‘bout you, they still have you on babysitting duty at the Point?” Daniel hid a smile at the sweet tone of voice.

Barker’s face darkened. “‘S important work, O-O’Neill. This is ‘e future of the Army. Beat you flyboys any old day.”

“‘Cept in football,” Ding chimed in with a smile.

“Yeah, so what’ve you got to show for your assignment, Colonel?” It came out more as _Curl_. “Nice bunch o’ paperwork?”

If only he knew... Jack had probably seen more combat time in the past few years than the rest of the bar patrons put together, much of it against technologically and sometimes physically superior races. But who would believe that, even if they could have told them? Daniel fumed silently for Jack’s sake. In a field where experience said more about a man than rank, it wasn’t fair that the last few years of Jack’s career were officially, essentially, desk duty.

Jack didn’t seem to care. “Oh, a few levels of rank and pay higher than you, _Lieutenant_.”

Ding grinned and even John cracked a smile, and Barker sullenly lurched off. Daniel felt himself unconsciously relax, backing off of instincts honed from years of watching his teammate’s back.

Jack’s eyes were warm as they glanced over at him, and Clark gave him another appraising look. Daniel hid a wince. Apparently he was more transparent than he would have liked. Then again, he’d seen a few of the glares Jack had thrown at argumentative audience members that morning. But while he was used to Jack reading him, the others still made him edgy.

Whether O’Neill picked up on that or had just reached his fill, the conversation died down soon after and Jack nodded questioningly toward the door. Daniel inclined his head in return. He wasn’t honestly sorry he’d come but he was definitely ready to go. The second beer wasn’t sitting well on his empty stomach, and the music was starting to give him a headache.

The bar patrons, on the other hand, no longer bothered him a bit. As he and Jack stood and said their good-byes, Daniel even caught a parting nod or two sent their way. No doubt due to Jack’s presence beside him, but still...it was a nice feeling, being part of the camaraderie in the room. He had a whole new appreciation for career soldiers that had escaped him in the daily preoccupation with BDU’s, MRE’s, and M-16’s. And a new appreciation for Jack’s well-earned place among them.

Er, not that he had the faintest intention of telling Jack that.

Jack stopped at the bar on the way out, paying for Daniel’s second beer and waving away the archaeologist’s offer of compensation. Then they were heading out into the cooling air of the night that had started to settle while they’d been inside. Without a word, the two of them climbed into the car, and Jack started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

Whatever barriers had been allowed to fall inside the tavern had risen again. The former rules of awkwardness over certain subjects, particularly ones that involved emotion of any kind, were back in full force, and the silence in the Jeep verged on strained, at least on Jack’s part. It had been his world, after all, a peek into his make-up. Daniel had to wonder if maybe he’d been allowed to see more than Jack, looking back now, was comfortable with. He was just searching for the right words to interrupt the silence when the older man beat him to it.

“So...what did you think?”

He wasn’t quite sure what he was being asked. “They seemed like good guys,” Daniel offered hesitantly.

An inscrutable look, all the more indecipherable in the dim light in the car. “Don’t know if you’d still say that if you knew what they did for a living.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” Daniel answered the implicit challenge quietly. Yeah, he’d given Jack grief before for his line of work, even ranted at the older man after he’d been forced to kill for the first time. Daniel suppressed an involuntary shudder at the thought even as he continued, “Somebody probably has to do what they do.”

Another hard look, as if Jack was trying to figure him out. “Is this the same Daniel Jackson who hates to pick up a gun?” A little too wry, those words.

“Yeah, well, that’s not what _I_ do, Jack. I’ll always be a lot happier studying afterwards what we find on a mission than going on the mission itself. You know that.”

“That was pretty obvious this morning,” Jack said, his eyes firmly on the road.

Okay, was that a complaint or a compliment? And just how much had Jack picked up about _him_ that morning, in _his_ element? “Jack--”

“Actually, I was asking you about Sully’s.” At Daniel’s puzzled glance, he added, “The bar.”

“Oh. It was...different. Interesting. Not the kind of place I pictured you being in, but you--”

“--belong there. Like you with a bunch of tweed-jacketed eggheads.”

He unexpectedly felt himself relax. “They don’t all wear tweed. You know, there are a lot of untrue stereotypes out there about academics.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t know how _that_ feels,” Jack muttered. But he sounded like he was loosening up, too.

“So...maybe the two groups complement each other. You know, my weakness is your strength.”

“Like never looking before you leap.”

“I was thinking more like shooting before you think,” Daniel instantly answered.

“Anyone ever tell you how annoying you can be, Jackson?”

He was smiling now. “Besides you?”

Jack snorted. His hands flexed on the steering wheel, the man ever in motion. So unlike Daniel, it was almost laughable, and yet there they were, friends...equals.

Daniel leaned his head back against the seat, idly taking in the passing darkened landscape. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Thought we could go back to my place, maybe put a few steaks on the grill. I’m guessing you haven’t had anything since that bagel this morning.”

“How’d you--”

“I’ve been listening to your stomach growl ever since we got to Sully’s.”

“Oh.” With that kind of observation skills, Jack might have even made a good archaeologist. Maybe they weren’t that different, after all.

Jack reached over to flip on the radio, and in a minute he was whistling along with a country song about a guy who was mourning his lost truck.

Or not, Daniel thought with a repressed smile.

But, you know, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The End


End file.
